


All That Glitters

by eternaleponine



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Clexa Week 2018, F/F, at work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-03-24 14:37:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13813245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: Clexa Week 2018 - Day 3 - At WorkClarke is a physical therapist/sports trainer fresh out of school who is lucky enough to be appointed to the medical team for Team USA at the Olympics.Lexa is an alpine ski racer who came onto the international scene out of nowhere and took it by storm.  She comes looking for some help loosening up an old injury, and finds herself on Clarke's table.





	1. Chapter 1

Clarke Griffin did not get star-struck. Her mother's position as one of the most well-respected names in sports medicine, along with her long-held desire to follow in her footsteps, meant that she had been around elite athletes her entire life. This wasn't even her first Olympics, although in the past she'd been a kid tagging along with her mom and lacked the credentials to access the places she really wanted to see, like the training rooms where athletes went to get taped up, iced down, massaged and manipulated until they were in the best shape possible to face whatever their event demanded of them. 

This year, though, fresh out of school but vouched for by her mother, she was a bona fide member of Team USA. She'd had butterflies for the first day or two as they'd set things up, but soon they'd settled into a routine, and it really wasn't so different from the work she'd done during the internships she'd had as part of her college curriculum. The stakes were higher, maybe, but the job was the same, and soon famous faces became familiar, and she wasn't intimidated when someone she'd previously only seen in magazines showed up on her table.

Because Clarke Griffin didn't get star-struck.

So why, _why_ , was she frozen in place, caught in the implacable forest green gaze of Alexandria "Lexa" Woods, the young Alpine skier who had come out of nowhere and taken the international scene by storm in the months leading up to the Olympic games? 

"What can I do you for?" Clarke asked, not realizing until the words were out that that was _not_ what she'd meant to say. Her cheeks flushed, and she forced a smile, hoping that Lexa would think it was intentional. Better for her to think that she had a hopelessly corny, dad-joke sense of humor than the alternative. 

"My shoulder," she said, and nothing else. As if Clarke was supposed to know what was wrong with it and how to fix it. 

_Was_ Clarke supposed to know what was wrong with it? She hadn't worked with her before, and she swore she would have noticed if she'd seen Lexa's name on the list of athletes she was supposed to see that day. 

"Right," Clarke said. "Just a sec. I'll be right with you." She forced another smile and tried not to look like she was running away as she hurried to where her mother was looking over something on a tablet, thankfully not within earshot of anyone else. "Mom!"

Abby looked up from the tablet and smiled. "Hi sweetie," she said, but then her eyebrows pulled together, lines sprouting across her forehead. "What's wrong?"

"I think there's been a mistake," Clarke hissed. 

Abby cocked her head. "What do you mean?"

"Lexa – Alexandria Woods. She's not one of my patients... is she?"

"Oh!" Her mother's smile returned. "That's my fault," she said. Clarke started to breathe a sigh of relief, but it caught in her throat when her mother added, "I forgot to update your list."

"What do you mean?" Clarke asked. 

"She expressed a preference for working with a woman," Abby said, "and as you know, that's just you and me, and I don't have time to take her on myself, so..." She shrugged. "Is there a problem?"

Clarke coughed. "No," she said. "No problem. Just... I don't have any of her information."

"Oh!" Abby shook her head. "Still getting myself oriented, I guess," she said. "I'll get it to you in a second." She turned her attention back to her tablet, tapping away. A minute later she looked back at Clarke, smile back in place. "All set," she said. "It's nothing complicated," she said. "Just an old injury that we're monitoring, for the most part. Some massage and ultrasound, probably some post-race icing. Nothing that you're not more than capable of handling." 

"Okay," Clarke said, wishing she felt even half of her mother's confidence. It wasn't the actual work that she was worried about, though. It was Lexa herself, and the way it felt like when she looked at Clarke, she could see right through her. It was her eyes, and her...

 _Stop it,_ Clarke told herself before her mind could get any further than that. _You are a professional, and so is she, and that's the end of it._

She pasted on a smile and returned to where Lexa was sitting on the edge of the exam tables, staring straight ahead at nothing. "Sorry about that," she said. "Just a little mix-up with the files. I just need a minute to—"

"It's fine," Lexa said. 

Clarke grabbed her own tablet and scrolled through the information that her mother had sent her. She was right; it was nothing that Clarke couldn't handle. Hell, it was nothing that she couldn't have handled in her first semester freshman year, if not for the patient.

"I'm just going to—" Clarke started.

"I know," Lexa interrupted, but then her mask of disinterest cracked a little, and Clarke thought she saw the faintest hint of a smile. "I know the drill," she said. "Do what you need to do. I'll let you know if I feel any pain."

"Okay," Clarke said. She got to work, the warmth of Lexa's skin seeping through her shirt as she manipulated her shoulder, checking range of motion, strength, etc. Lexa answered her questions, but other than that remained quiet, letting Clarke go about her business. "I should check the other one," Clarke said. "To compare."

"I already told you," Lexa said, "do what you need to do. You don't need my permission."

"Maybe not," Clarke said, "but I'd like it."

At that Lexa looked at her, blinking like she couldn't quite understand what she was hearing. "Go ahead," she said, more softly than before. 

Clarke moved to her left side and began manipulating her uninjured shoulder. "I wouldn't like it if people just started touching me, poking and prodding me, without at least giving me a head's up," she said. 

Lexa made a soft sound that might have been a laugh if it hadn't been so saturated with bitterness. "You're the exception that proves the rule, then," she said. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm even a person, or just a very realistic dummy to be manipulated, or a machine with a broken part that needs to be repaired."

"My m—Dr. Griffin wouldn't treat you like that," Clarke said. 

"I haven't worked with her, except the brief conversation we had about getting me switched to, well, you." Lexa lifted her right shoulder, since Clarke was still occupied with her left, and let it fall. "Maybe that's the difference. Women are used to being treated as objects and are less likely to do so to other people as a result."

Clarke didn't answer, but she couldn't help thinking that there was merit to Lexa's assessment. "I'm not finding anything obviously wrong," she said, "but it does seem a little tight. We can do some stretching and massage to help loosen it up."

"We?" Lexa asked.

"You and me," Clarke said. "We're in this together, right? Although really you mostly just have to lay there and let me torture you." She winked, and Lexa actually smiled, faintly, but it lit up her eyes so that the color seemed to brighten a few shades. "When is your first race?"

"The first run is tomorrow morning, as long as the weather holds," Lexa said. 

"Okay," Clarke said. "I can do some work now, and then again tomorrow morning if you want."

"Sounds good," Lexa said, and laid back, her eyes closing as Clarke worked the muscles of her shoulder and arm, stretching and moving them, trying not to make things worse before they got better as she dug into the knots. 

Lexa groaned as something released, and when Clarke finally finished and laid her arm gently at her side, her eyes cracked open, blinking sluggishly like she had just woken up, or was half-drunk, or both. "Thank you," she said, catching Clarke's hand before she could move away. "I don't think I've felt this good in... since the injury happened, at least, and maybe longer than that."

"You're welcome," Clarke said. "Try to stay relaxed so it doesn't knot up again. Gentle stretching, but don't go overboard. Drink plenty of fluids, get rest, all of that good stuff, and I'll see you again in the morning." She hesitated, then reached across to take Lexa's other hand, pulling her up to sitting. For a second, they just looked at each other, neither of them letting go.

"I'd better let you get to the next person in line," Lexa finally said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Not if I see you first," Clarke said, which was stupid and cheezy but apparently that was the person she became around this girl. Anyway, it was worth it for the smile Lexa flashed her as she shrugged back into her coat.

* * *

The next morning Clarke spent way too much time fussing over her hair and what she was wearing, considering that everyone – _everyone_ \- involved with Team USA had some kind of uniform. It was stupid and ridiculous and she knew it, but for some reason (and she knew exactly what that reason was, but refused to admit it, even to herself) she felt it necessary to put in extra effort to look good.

Lexa was already waiting when she got there, bundled up in a puffy jacket that of course bore the flag and the letters USA emblazoned across the back. "Morning," she said, smiling in the way that she had that barely shifted her features but made her eyes glow. 

"Morning," Clarke echoed. "I hope you haven't been waiting long." 

"Not too long," Lexa said. "Just a few minutes." 

Clarke let them in, and they stripped off their outer layers and Lexa climbed up onto one of the tables. Clarke held out her hands, reaching for Lexa but not touching her until she nodded. "How's everything feeling?" she asked as she began to test the joint for any resistance or tension. 

"Good," Lexa said. "It tightened up a little since yesterday, just because it's pretty much impossible to not move your shoulder around, but not anything like it was. It still feels better than it has in a long time." 

"Excellent," Clarke said. "You've been staying hydrated, well-rested, all of that good stuff?"

Lexa nodded. "I went to bed early, and then got up early to make sure I could get something to eat while I still had time to digest before the first run." She pressed her lips together, swallowing back a grunt as Clarke moved her shoulder in a direction it clearly wasn't keen on going. 

"Don't do that," Clarke said gently. "Don't try to hide it when something hurts."

"It doesn't hurt," Lexa said, almost defensive. "Just a little uncomfortable."

"Don't hide it when something is uncomfortable, either," Clarke said. "That's what I need to know to help you."

"Right," Lexa said. 

Clarke got to work, and Lexa was quiet, her eyes mostly closed. Clarke got the feeling that she was used to hiding her pain – discomfort, whatever – and probably everything else that might reveal her to be human. Part of it was just being an athlete, Clarke was pretty sure; not showing weakness was part of the game. But there was more to it than that, she thought. 

"Do you have family here?" she asked. "I mean, did they come to see you compete?"

Lexa shook her head. "No family," she said a moment later, and from the way she said it, Clarke got the distinct impression that she didn't just mean she had no family here; she meant no family at all, anywhere. 

"Oh." Clarke frowned, wishing she hadn't brought it up. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Lexa said. "They would only distract me."

Again, she said more with her tone, and the silence that followed, than with the words that actually came out of her mouth, which sounded like something that she had been told, and was now parroting back, like if she said it enough she might believe it. 

Clarke didn't know how to respond to that, so she just let it go. She took her time, not in any hurry to finish, partly because there was no one else waiting (although it would certainly get busy later) and partly because, although she doubted Lexa would ever admit it, she thought maybe she took some comfort in the contact, and the quiet of their surroundings. Finally, though, she'd worked out the last of the knots, and she had no excuse to keep going. 

"Thank you," Lexa said, in that same heavy-lidded, slightly dazed state she'd been in yesterday. "I really appreciate it." 

"Of course," Clarke said. "It's my pleasure." 

One corner of Lexa's mouth quirked. "I bet you say that to all of the girls," she said. 

Clarke felt heat creep her up her neck, her cheeks and the tips of her ears burning. "I don't," she said. "Good luck today. I can say that, right? It's not like theater where that's bad luck?"

Lexa actually laughed, a soft exhalation. "In your line of work, I'm pretty sure it would be considered unethical to tell someone to 'break a leg'," she said. "Yes, it's okay to wish me good luck. Thank you." She hesitated, like she wanted to say more, then pressed her lips together and slid off the table. 

"If you need anything," Clarke said as she reached the door, "you know where to find me."

Lexa waved and pushed through it, back out into the cold, and whatever the day was going to bring.

* * *

Clarke found herself looking at the clock every few minutes, watching the minutes tick by until the start of the race. She didn't know where Lexa fell in the lineup, so she didn't know when she would actually send herself hurtling down the slope at ungodly speeds (although the speeds for the slalom events weren't anything like what they would be for the downhill races), dodging around and occasionally bashing into plastic poles on the way down, trying to cut a path between them that was as direct and fast as possible, with little to no regard for life or limb, because the difference between winning and losing was sometimes measured in hundredths of a second. 

"Why?" she muttered, as the minute hand hit the three, signaling the quarter of the hour and the official start of the women's giant slalom event, which was Lexa's specialty. "Why would you ever decide that throwing yourself head-first down a mountain on strips of waxed plastic was a good idea?"

"Did you want to turn it on?" her mother asked, nodding toward the TV in the corner that allowed them to watching events as they unfolded if they wanted to. 

"No," Clarke said. "Definitely not."

Her mother laughed. "It's job security," she pointed out. 

"That doesn't mean I want to witness it," Clarke said. "It's like watching a train go by, waiting to see if it wrecks."

She was grateful when one of the athletes that she was working with came in and she had something to distract her. The knots in her stomach didn't go away completely, but at least for a little while she was able to think about something else. After that it was a pretty steady stream of people coming in, scheduled and not, but thankfully nothing emergent or dire. 

When there was finally a lull, she was surprised to look up and find Lexa sitting and waiting for her. Clarke rushed over, worried that something had happened, but Lexa seemed fine. She even smiled as Clarke approached, as if to reassure her. Clarke had to ask, though. She had to know. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Lexa said. Her gaze caught and held Clarke's for a long moment, and then she looked away, speaking to the air just past Clarke's shoulder. "I didn't see you."

"Didn't...?" Clarke felt lines creasing between her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"At the hill," Lexa said. "I thought you might—" She stopped, shook her head. "Never mind. You're busy."

"I have a minute," Clarke said. "I just—" Finally it clicked what Lexa was saying, or trying to say. She'd thought that Clarke might come out to see her race, and now she was... disappointed?... that she hadn't. "Oh," she said softly. "I... I'm not a very good spectator." She tried to smile but it probably looked like more of a grimace. "All I can see is all of the things that might go wrong, and I spend the entire time with my heart in my throat."

"Of course," Lexa said. "I wasn't thinking." She forced a smile, but it was about as convincing as Clarke's had been. "I'll leave you to it." She didn't wait for a response, just hurried out the door to do whatever it was that she normally did between races. 

The second run was in the afternoon, and after barely picking at her lunch, Clarke found herself watching the clock again. This time they would race in the reverse order of their current standings, which meant that Lexa would be second to last. (She'd let herself check the results only after she'd seen that Lexa made it through in one piece.) But with it taking barely a minute to get through the course, it still wouldn't take long after they started for it to be Lexa's turn. 

Twenty minutes until start, and then fifteen... and Clarke couldn't take it anymore. She found her mom and grabbed her arm. "I need to go," she said. "I'll be back soon, but I... I need to go."

Abby looked at her, frowning, but she nodded. "All right," she said. "If anyone comes looking for you, I'll do what I can." 

"Thanks." Clarke hopped on a shuttle that transported athletes, coaches and other official personnel from one venue to another, hoping that she would make it in time. The minutes ticked by on her dad's old watch, and finally she had to stop looking. She darted off the shuttle as soon as they reached their destination and dodged through the people gathered, making her way to the warming tent just as Lexa stepped out. 

She stopped dead when she saw Clarke, pushing her goggles up onto her helmet and blinking at her like she thought she might be seeing things. Then, slowly, she nodded. "I'm glad you came," she said softly.

"Me too," Clarke answered. 

A second later Lexa's coach came out, and the moment shattered as he began muttering to her, a course report, maybe, or last-minute instructions, leading her away from Clarke as if she wasn't even there. Maybe he was the one who had told her that family would be a distraction, and maybe in this moment, he was right. She wasn't family, but she didn't want to take away from whatever pre-race rituals Lexa might have. She looked at the board that told them where in the order they were, and decided that she had time – hopefully – to make it to the bottom of the run before Lexa made her descent. 

If she didn't have family here to greet her at the bottom, to cheer with her or console her, depending on what happened, then maybe Clarke could be the next best thing. 

She hadn't been lying when she'd told Lexa that her heart would be in her throat the entire time. Her credentials got her right up to the area where the athletes waited, hopeful or dejected, after their runs. Huge projection screens showed spectators what was happening on the parts of the course that they couldn't see. Clarke clenched her hands together so tightly her fingers ached, but she couldn't release them. She barely breathed as Lexa pushed out of the starting gate to a raucous cheer, dodging right and left, the edges of her skis barely clinging to the snow as they shifted from one extreme to the other. 

It all happened so fast, Clarke could barely process it. She couldn't imagine what it was like to actually _do_ it, to have to react to changes in the course, the terrain, with split-second timing. She couldn't imagine what was going through Lexa's head, or if anything was. Maybe it was just muscle memory, and conscious thought took a backburner for the duration. 

Finally she came into view, powering through the last few turns at break-neck speed. _Literally,_ Clarke couldn't help thinking. _If she fell now, if she crashed..._

But she didn't crash. She came across the line, leaning forward and reaching for the ground, because maybe that would make the difference between silver and gold, or even medal or no medal. As she skidded to a stop, she turned toward the board that Clarke had refused to look at... and it lit up green. 

She'd done it. She'd won.

Clarke let out a whoop, a wild exhalation after holding her breath for what felt like the better part of the last minute, and saw Lexa's head turn in her direction. She waved, and Lexa dug in her poles and pushed toward her, gliding across the snow with her skis still strapped on, and turning sideways when she reached the barrier that separated them. 

Clarke leaned over it, reaching to give Lexa a hug, but apparently Lexa – gold medal-winning Olympian Lexa – had other ideas. She reached out, her poles still dangling from her wrists, took Clarke's face between her hands, and kissed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if this is how things work at the Olympics, or any other major sporting event. Everything I know about alpine ski racing I learned from staying up way too late watching the Olympics these past two weeks. Apologies for anything I got wrong!
> 
> I may decide to continue this. If people are interested, let me know!
> 
> ETA: Okay, you all convinced me! I will definitely be continuing. :-)


	2. Chapter 2

Flashes exploded around them, capturing the moment and broadcasting it through channels, official and otherwise, to the entire world, and Lexa hadn't thought about that fact until it was too late to not do what she'd just done, and there was no undoing it. 

Titus was going to kill her.

Lexa pulled back, her fingers – gloves – lingering just a little longer on Clarke's skin than her lips did, and she took in Clarke's dazed expression, confusion carving lines between her brows, and the chill that went through Lexa wasn't just because of the sudden gust of wind that blew right through her suit. 

Clarke hadn't kissed her back. Had she? It had been a wild impulse... and maybe a bad one. 

She was barely aware of the cameras starting to crowd in around her as the last racer finished her run, her time confirming what Lexa had already known: she'd won. Her first Olympics, and she'd won gold. 

She should have been elated, but all she could think about was the fact that she'd (probably) made a terrible mistake. 

"I'm sorry," she said. "Clarke, I'm—"

Clarke shook her head, but if she said anything Lexa didn't hear it, because the media and fellow competitors closed in on her like sharks smelling blood in the water, and all she could hear was her name being shouted at her as they competed for her attention, offering congratulations and hoping for a sound bite. 

She was actually grateful to see her coach storming toward her, the crowd parting to let him through, and she was in his arms in what she was sure appeared to be an enthusiastic hug, and maybe part of it was, but they couldn't feel the tension in his arms like bands of iron around her, or hear him when he hissed, "What the hell have you done?"

* * *

It didn't take long for Clarke to realize that she wasn't getting near Lexa again any time soon. She twisted and squirmed her way through the crowd like a salmon forcing its way upstream, determined to get back to the shuttle and back to work. She needed to distract herself from what had just happened before the static in her head got so loud she couldn't think anymore. 

She managed to snag one of the last few seats on the bus and found herself sitting next to one of the other skiers from the race. The woman hadn't ever really been in the running for a medal, but she was smiling as if she'd won anyway, and maybe just making it this far was enough. For most of the competitors here that had to be true, otherwise what was the point? There were so many athletes and so few medals, the odds were never in their favor.

"Congratulations," the woman said, nudging Clarke and grinning. Her accent was so thick it took Clarke a second to process the word. 

"I didn't do anything," Clarke said, confused. "You're the one who—"

"No, no," the woman said. "Your girlfriend, she just—"

"She's not my girlfriend," Clarke said quickly. Too quickly, maybe, but it felt like it was important that there weren't any misunderstandings. "She's just—she was just excited. We're... friends? I guess. It wasn't... like that." She stumbled over the words, not sure how true they were. They weren't even friends, were they? Their relationship was purely professional. The kiss hadn't meant anything. Lexa was excited, and she was there and...

Her mother was going to kill her.

"Ah, sorry," the woman said. "Still, you are lucky girl." She winked. 

Clarke smiled, but it felt like more of a grimace, and she was glad when the bus stopped, dropping her off at the stop closest to the medical center. She crossed the street but stopped in front of the door, realizing as she reached for it that her hands were shaking. She took a couple of deep breaths, the exhale twice as long as the inhale, a calming technique that she didn't remember learning, but it worked. 

She tugged open the door and stepped inside, shedding protective layers until she was down to what was comfortable to work in, grabbed her tablet and pulled up the list of athletes waiting their turn to be seen to. 

She got away with it until the staff started to shift from those who had worked all day into those who would work all night, or most of it. Events started early and ended late, trying to balance the athletes' needs for regular schedules and plenty of rest with global media primetime coverage of the most popular events. 

"Let's get something to eat," her mother suggested. "We can bring it back to my room."

"Okay," Clarke said, not daring to say no. Abby didn't sound _angry_ , exactly, so maybe it really was an innocent invitation, mother and daughter having a meal together, not boss and subordinate. They went and lined up for food, and Clarke tried to put together a reasonably balanced meal, even as she naturally gravitated toward all of the things that weren't the best choices, like she always did when she was stressed. They were eating in the same place that specialized in feeding Olympians, though, so how bad could any of it really be? 

Once they had their food packaged up in to-go containers, they went to Abby's little apartment in the Olympic Village. They had considered sharing a space for about a second before realizing that if they were both doing to survive the event, that probably wasn't the greatest idea. They'd done it when Clarke was younger, but now that they would be working together on top of being related, it just seemed like they would be asking for trouble. 

"So," Abby said, when they'd both eaten enough to quell the growling of their stomachs. "I caught a replay of the women's giant slalom today. It was all anyone could talk about." Clarke's heart sank. So much for an innocent invitation. "I don't suppose you might know anything about that?" 

It was tempting to try to play dumb, but she didn't know how much the cameras had actually caught, how obvious it was that she was the object of Lexa's outburst of affection. Better not to take a chance on upsetting her mother (more?) and just come clean. 

"It just happened," Clarke said. "She was excited. I was there. It wasn't anything."

Abby's eyes bore into her like she could somehow watch another replay of the moment, this time through Clarke's eyes, to verify the veracity of her statement. "So there's nothing going on between the two of you?"

"No!" Clarke said, too quickly and too loud. There wasn't – _obviously_ there wasn't – but objecting too strenuously was just as likely, maybe more likely, to have her mother doubting her than if she waffled. "Mom, you've been with me practically every minute since we got here. If there was something going on, don't you think you'd know about it?"

Abby sighed. "Okay," she said. "I just needed to make sure that this wasn't going to become an issue."

"It wasn't," Clarke said. "I mean it isn't. It won't. I might not even see her again." She ignored the pang that went through her at the thought, but it was harder to ignore the worry that chased on its heels as she realized that Lexa hadn't come in after her race. She hadn't said she was going to, but her mother had mentioned post-race icing, and somehow in the back of her head that had morphed from a possibility to something more definite. 

"What's wrong?" Abby asked, reading her face before she could do anything to mask what she was feeling. "Clarke?"

"Sorry," Clarke said. "I just realized she didn't come in after her race. I guess she must not have needed it."

"Hm," Abby said. "We were so busy I didn't realize." She looked down at her food, poking her fork into a bit of chicken. "I'll check in with the team when we're done eating, see if she came in after we left." She lifted her fork to her mouth and took another bite, chewing slowly. 

Clarke followed suit, but everything suddenly tasted like cardboard. She told herself not to worry, that it wasn't a big deal and it didn't mean anything that Lexa hadn't shown up. Maybe she was feeling good and she didn't need it. Maybe she hadn't had time. The medals weren't given right away, but she might have had to go do press or something. 

The rest of the meal was quiet, and when Clarke got back to her room, she took a long shower and changed into pajamas, figuring she would just settle in and get a good night's rest. But no sooner had she stuck her feet under the covers when the door to her room burst open. "Are you not coming?" her roommate Raven – a technician of some kind, Clarke wasn't entirely clear on what exactly she did, only that Raven was convinced that Team USA would basically fall apart without her – demanded. 

"Coming where?" Clarke asked. 

"To the medal ceremony!" Raven said. "Duh." She limped over to Clarke's bed and yanked back the covers. "You are not skipping out on this. That's like... jilting someone at the altar."

"What the hell are you—" Clarke stopped, groaned. "For fuck's sake," she grumbled. "It's not like that."

"Are you sure?" Raven asked, her lips twisting into an irritating smirk. "Because the whole world is pretty convinced that it is."

"And me showing up at the medal ceremony will only add fuel to the flames," Clarke said. "I just want to sleep." 

Raven snorted. "You're not going to sleep, and you know it. If you wanted some 'me time' you should have taken advantage of the detachable showerhead." She grinned, and Clarke's cheeks flamed. It hadn't even occurred to her... "I'm not taking no for an answer, so don't make this more difficult than it needs to be." 

Clarke tried to pull the blankets back up over herself, but Raven had an iron grip on them, and after a few seconds tug-of-war, Clarke knew that it was a lost cause. Raven wasn't going to change her mind no matter what Clarke said or did. "Fine," she snapped, more resignation than ire coming through. "Give me ten minutes."

"You've got five," Raven said. She let go of Clarke's blankets, and for a second Clarke was tempted to dive underneath them and refuse to budge, but that would probably end with her being dragged to the ceremony in her pajamas, and if nothing else, it was way too cold outside for that. 

She got up, rifling through her drawers to find something that didn't look like she'd just tossed on whatever, but that also didn't look like she was trying too hard. Raven rolled her eyes and tapped on her wrist, where there was not actually a watch. Seven minutes later, Clarke shoved her feet into her boots, flipped her hood up, and followed Raven out into the cold.

* * *

It should have been one of the best, most exciting moments of her life. She was about to receive an Olympic gold medal, for her very first event in her very first Olympics. Instead, Lexa wanted to be anywhere but here. She reached across her body, cupping her right shoulder with her left hand and rotating it forward, then back, trying to ease the tension that had built rapidly after the race. 

Titus had gotten bags of ice and strapped them to it, carefully following the post-race protocol they would have used if she'd gone to the medical center, so she couldn't say that she was missing out treatment that might be critical to her continued success. But then when he'd removed them he'd taken it upon himself to check her range of motion, and now all she could feel was where he'd touched her, like his fingers were claws that had dug straight through skin and muscle and into her bones, leaving behind gouges that no one else could see but that she could feel even now. 

Her eyes filled with tears and she quickly dashed them away, sniffing loudly and clearing her throat like it was the cold getting to her and not anything else. 

At least he wasn't here now, or at least not anywhere where she had to see him. She was sure that he was near enough by that if he wanted to get to her that he could, especially if he thought she was going to do anything that would compromise her... what? Competitive edge? Her public image? She didn't know what he was so worried about; if anything that kiss had gotten her _more_ attention than she might otherwise have received, and wasn't that a good thing? Didn't he want her to be front page news? But then she wanted to be recognized for her athletic skill, not for things in her life that weren't anyone else's business, including her coach's. One of the things that she hated about all of this was that being successful meant also having to learn how to navigate the media circus. If she didn't, it would give Titus the opportunity to speak on her behalf, and they didn't always see eye-to-eye. 

Lexa was jostled out of her own head by a not-so-gentle nudge to her right shoulder. She flinched, not because it actually hurt – her puffy parka kept the area well-padded – but because she expected it to. She looked over and saw another member of Team USA (she wasn't sure what sport) pointing toward the podium. "You're up next," he said, flashing her a smile. He looked young, so probably a snowboarder or a skater, but she didn't think there had been any medal events for skating today, and the shaggy blonde hair fit better with the snowboarders anyway. 

"Oh. Thanks," she said, smiling back. "Congratulations," she said, not knowing what he'd won, only that to be in this area right now, he had to have won something.

His face split into a grin even as he ducked his head like he'd suddenly gone shy. "Yeah, you too."

"Thanks." Lexa made her way over toward the podium, watching as the athletes from the event before cleared off, and they called the names of the bronze medal winner, and then the silver, and the finally, "From the United States, Alexandria Woods!" The words were echoed again in French and then Korean as Lexa took her place on the top step and bowed her head to receive her medal. When she looked up again her eye was drawn to someone waving wildly in the crowd, and then putting her fingers between her lips to let out an earsplitting whistle before her companion dragged her hands down, saying something that Lexa obviously couldn't hear, but she was reasonably confident was telling her to knock it off, it was embarrassing. At least that's what Lexa would have been saying if it was her.

And Clarke – because when she finally looked Lexa's way, there was no mistaking that face – had had enough embarrassment for one day.

The national anthem began to play, and Lexa watched the flag rise, not allowing herself to look away no matter how much she wanted to get another glimpse of Clarke... who wasn't here for her. There was absolutely no way that Clarke was here to see her get her medal. Letting herself believe that, even for a second, would be hubris, and pride goeth before a fall and all that.

When the anthem ended, she lifted the medal up from where it hung, smiling and waving and finally letting herself look for Clarke again. She was still there, and for a second they were looking right at each other, and Lexa's smile was suddenly more genuine, her waving more enthusiastic, until Clarke waved back and her heart and brain sort of stuttered for a second. Then they were being ushered down and away so the next event could be announced, and Lexa was tempted to make a break for it, to try to get to Clarke, to show off her medal close-up, to put her arms around her and have Clarke embrace her back, to...

"You have a training run early tomorrow," Titus said, his hand closing around her sleeve, not clamping down or pulling, not with this many people around, but tight enough that if she'd tried to get away, he would have felt the resistance. "You should get some sleep."

_How the hell do you think I'm going to sleep tonight?_ , Lexa wanted to ask. _I just got a gold medal. I should get to celebrate._ But it wasn't as if she had any friends to celebrate with. Even the other members of the USA ski team tended to give her a wide berth. Most of them had been training and competing together for years; she'd come out of nowhere a few months ago and beat them all, including taking a spot that would otherwise have gone to one of their compatriots, their friends. They weren't _un_ friendly, but there was no love lost, either. It was strictly business, and they were coworkers.

"Right," she said. "Of course." And she let herself be pulled from the hubbub and energy of the crowd and escorted to the door of her room in the Olympic Village, shared with a cross-country skier who was pretty much never there, which suited Lexa fine. She didn't give Titus the opportunity to give her any advice, or lectures, or anything else, just went in and shut the door behind her, and began her bedtime ritual, hoping that the adrenaline coursing through her veins would ebb enough to let her sleep before morning.

* * *

Clarke smiled and patted her patient on the shoulder as he sat up. "Good luck today," she said. 

"Thanks," he replied. "I'm gonna need it." He winked and slid off the table, giving her a quick wave as he shrugged on his coat and pulled open the door. There was an awkward shuffle as someone tried to come in at the same time he went out, but finally he was gone, and standing in his place was Lexa. 

Clarke's face split with a grin. She couldn't help it. She left her station to go say hi, and congratulations, and all of the things that she'd hoped she would get to say last night when Lexa had noticed her at the medal ceremony (even though she'd told Raven off for drawing Lexa's attention). But Lexa had disappeared right after, and then Raven saw someone she knew who always knew where the party was happening. She'd invited Clarke to come along, and Clarke had, thinking maybe Lexa would be there. It hadn't taken long for it to become clear that Lexa wasn't there, and that she wasn't going to arrive fashionably late, either.

Clarke considered it a remarkable act of restraint on her part that she hadn't smacked Raven for the knowing smirk she'd given her when she said that she was going back to their room to enjoy the quiet night that she'd planned before Raven had so rudely interrupted.

Now she had another chance. As she approached Lexa, a hand already extended, she stopped at the skier's panicked expression, quickly and carefully hidden, but not before Clarke saw it. Her heart sank, and she retreated back to her area. Lexa had apologized for what had happened after the race, had clearly been embarrassed by it, and crowding her wasn't going to help things. Clarke would have plenty of time to tell her that it was okay, that she understood that it didn't mean anything, while she worked on Lexa's shoulder, which she could see even from this distance had stiffened up considerably and was probably worse now than it had been before Clarke had first worked on it.

She opened her mouth to say good morning as Lexa approached her table... and it was left hanging open when Lexa walked right by, not even looking at her as she went to one of the other therapists and boosted herself up on his table. 

_His_ table. When two days ago her mother had told her that Lexa had expressed that she preferred to work with a woman. What had—

Clarke's heart sank. As far as she could see, only one thing had changed since then, and even though it hadn't been a big deal (heat of the moment, adrenaline rush, not thinking straight, Clarke _got it_ ) it obviously bothered Lexa enough that she didn't even want Clarke touching her anymore. She would rather work with someone – anyone – else. 

She gave herself a moment to box the emotions that rose up away, locking it and shoving it into storage to be opened up and examined later... or never... and moved on to the next person on her list. 

But Clarke couldn't stop herself from sneaking occasional glances over at the table where Lexa was sitting, couldn't help seeing the way her jaw tensed when he pushed too hard, forced the joint too far, couldn't help hearing the soft grunts of pain that Lexa made as he dug into the muscle like he could reach through her skin and dig out the knots instead of slowly, patiently untying them. 

_Can't you see you're hurting her?_ , she wanted to demand, but it wasn't her place. Not anymore. The most she could do was maybe bring it up with her mother, but even that might be – probably was – overstepping. Lexa had made her choice, and now she had to live with it.

Clarke ground her teeth. No, that wasn't fair, and it wasn't right. She'd gone into this field to help people, to help them work through pain, and whenever possible to alleviate it. Letting Lexa suffer just because Clarke couldn't quite lock away all of the ache that came with rejection... it wasn't who she was. 

After she'd given her patient a set of stretches to do before they got to work, she went over to where her colleague was continuing to torture Lexa. "I'm sorry," she said as she approached. "I couldn't help noticing that you—that it seems like it's being a little stubborn." _Because you're acting like this is some kind of wrestling match and you just need to outmuscle it and you'll win..._ "Do you mind if I make a suggestion?"

The therapist – who was at least twice Clarke's age (and size) – narrowed his eyes, but gestured toward Lexa as if to say, 'Be my guest.' Clarke looked at Lexa, waiting for her to meet her eyes before asking, "May I?"

Clarke could see her hesitate for just a second before she nodded, and then said, "Please."

Clarke saw the other therapist bristle at that, but she didn't let it stop her. She moved Lexa's shoulder gently, finding where it resisted the most, and then began to work slowly. "Try working with the joint instead of against it," she said. "If you try to force it before it's ready, it's just going to tense up more... if not now, later." She kept going until she couldn't ignore the fact that she had someone else waiting on her anymore. She squeezed Lexa's shoulder as she turned her back over and hoped that what little good she'd been able to do wouldn't be undone in the next minute.

Lexa left not long after, while Clarke was still busy. From the way she was holding herself, she wasn't any better now than she had been when she'd walked in, and Clarke swore her own muscles twinged in sympathy. "Thank you," Lexa said softly as she walked past, "for trying."

"I'll be right back," Clarke told her patient. "I'm sorry." She caught Lexa before she could get out the door, but when they were face to face, she didn't know what to say. She wanted to ask why, but she _knew_ why, and she wanted to say that it was okay, but clearly it wasn't for Lexa, and... "You need to tell us when it hurts," she finally said. "We can't help if you don't tell us."

One breath, then another, and then Lexa tore her eyes from Clarke's and was out the door and gone.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey yo, someone turn that up!" 

Clarke glanced over her shoulder at the television mounted in the corner and saw Lexa's face filling the screen, then a clip of her crossing the finish line, and another of her holding up her medal and waving from the podium. 

"... Alexandria Woods, whose rise in the sport of alpine skiing has been nothing short of meteoric, but who became the talk of the town – and the world – when photos of a celebratory kiss went viral, after the break." 

The program went to commercial, but not before one of said viral photos flashed on the screen. Clarke ducked her head, even though her face wasn't really visible in the shot, blocked by Lexa's gloves and helmet. Somehow her mother had known it was her, though, so there must be other pictures, other angles, that showed more. 

_They won't ask about it,_ Clarke told herself. _There's no way they'll ask about it._ If Lexa had been kissing a boy all bets would have been off, but another girl? It was too controversial. It had to be. 

She busied herself cleaning up her station and leading the next athlete on her list over, focusing on her work as the host's face came back on the screen. If she didn't look, it wasn't real. Which was a ridiculous, childish thought, but she clung to it anyway. If she just kept her head down, nothing bad would happen. Like if you didn't move, the T-Rex couldn't see you and eat you. 

"So, Alexandria—"

"Lexa." 

"Lexa. First, I want to congratulate you on your gold medal! Your very first Olympics, and you've already achieved what everyone dreams of. That has to be exciting."

"It is," Lexa said, and Clarke couldn't help herself. She looked up, and for a second she was frozen, transfixed. She'd only ever seen Lexa in workout gear, or puffy winter clothing, or her ski suit, hair pulled back, face free of makeup, or close enough to that it wasn't noticeable. Now... 

Whoever had done her makeup for the interview had done just enough to heighten her already undeniably beautiful features, and with her hair down in loose waves, she was stunning. Clarke was stunned. _Holy fucking shit. That girl kissed me,_ Clarke thought. _**That** girl kissed **me**._

"You okay?" the athlete on her table asked. Was he a hockey player? No, skater. Or bobsledder. Luger? Something that had to do with ice, but wasn't that all of the sports? Fucking hell. She was lucky she could remember her own name. 

"Sorry," she muttered, and tried to shut out everything but the task at hand. Lexa wasn't on the TV, and she wasn't the most breathtaking person Clarke had ever seen. And even if she was, it didn't matter. It had been a fleeting moment and now it was over, and Lexa wanted nothing to do with her, and that was fine. Maybe it was better for both of them that way, although Clarke wasn't convinced of that, on a purely professional level. She'd seen how little help the other therapist had been when he'd worked on Lexa the day before. If Lexa wanted to be in top form...

She managed to turn most of what was being said – the usual questions and comments about Lexa's sudden appearance on the scene, how she'd gotten her start in skiing late but had quickly made up ground, thoughts about the events she still had coming up – into static, until she went to the cabinet for more kinesiotape and found herself standing right in front of the TV when the host leaned in conspiratorially.

"I'm not trying to pry into your personal life, of course, but you know that I have to ask, because it's been all over social media since it happened. After the race, you exchanged a celebratory kiss with someone in the crowd, and now everyone is wondering: who is she?"

Lexa smiled, a soft secret smile that said a lot and nothing all at once, depending on how people chose to interpret it. "It wasn't premeditated," she said. "It just happened." A soft laugh that made Clarke's stomach flutter. "I didn't know if she was going to make it to the race, and when I got to the finish and saw her I just..." She shrugged, held up her hands and let them fall, and laughed again. "As to your question... I'd rather not say." 

"Fair enough," the host said, smiling back. "But is it safe to say that she's someone special?"

"Yes," Lexa said. "It's safe to say that." And then she broke the rules and looked at the camera, just for a second, and Clarke swore she was looking right at her, like she knew that Clarke would be watching, and she was trying to communicate something to her. But what?

The room exploded in whistles and cheers, and Clarke missed whatever else was said after that. Since it went to commercial a few seconds later, she assumed it was just thanking Lexa for coming in and wishing her luck on her next events. 

"Man, I wish _I_ was special," one of the guys commented. "I wouldn't mind—"

"Pretty sure you're not her type," someone else called back. "You'd need a little more up top and a little less down below to hit that."

"Hey, maybe she swings both—"

"Enough!" Abby said, shutting them all down with a single word and a look that managed to encompass all of them at once. They all looked down like chastened little boys, which was pretty much what they were. "Clarke, can I speak to you for a second?"

Clarke followed her mother into the small office area that was cluttered with extra supplies and as a result, rarely used. "Close the door," Abby said. Clarke did as she was told. Her mother leaned against the edge of the desk. "You told me that there was nothing going on between the two of you," she said. 

"There's not!" Clarke said. 

"If there's nothing going on, why would she announce on national television—"

"I heard it," Clarke said, "and I don't think she was announcing anything. I don't know what she meant by what she said, but Mom, I swear to you that there is nothing going on." 

Abby studied her for a long moment, but finally she nodded, pinching the bridge of her nose like she had a sudden headache. "Okay," she said. "Make sure it stays that way."

Clarke bristled, and had to force herself not to snap. This wasn't her mom talking right now, it was her boss. "I'm not even working with her anymore," she said, "so that shouldn't be a problem." 

Abby frowned. "What do you mean?" She picked up her tablet from the stack of papers where she'd set it and tapped on the screen, bringing up Lexa's file, Clarke assumed. "I didn't authorize that change," she said, frowning. "I wasn't even aware of it." She looked at Clarke. "Go back to work, sweetie," she said. "I'll sort this out."

Clarke wasn't sure what her mom thought she needed to sort out, but she left her to it.

* * *

Lexa hadn't made it more than two steps out of the studio before her coach was in her face. She hadn't invited him to come to the interview, and by some miracle he hadn't insisted on coming anyway, but she should have known that it wouldn't last. 

"What have you done?" he demanded, blocking her path, and the number of other people walking back and forth made it almost impossible to dodge around him. 

"I just had an interview," Lexa said. 

"I am _aware_ that you had an interview," Titus snarled. "I saw it."

Of courses he had. Because he didn't have anything better to do with his time. "It wasn't a big deal."

"Not a—" He was practically shaking, trying to hold back his fury, and Lexa wanted to be anywhere but here when he finally couldn't contain it anymore. Most of the time she toed the line, did what he asked of her and picked her battles when they butted heads. Her temper had a long fuse, but after days of sleeping in a bed that wasn't hers, eating food that wasn't always what she wanted to be eating, getting up too early for training in sometimes miserable conditions, that fuse was getting shorter and shorter by the second, and if he blew up, she would too, and if that was going to happen, she didn't want it out in the open where anyone and everyone could see it, and film it. The last thing she needed was to go viral... again. 

Maybe Titus realized the same thing, because he took a deep breath and straightened up so that he wasn't in her personal space anymore. "It _is_ a big deal," he said, "but you're not the one that I should be angry with. You never should have been cornered with questions about... that. They had no right to ask, especially live when you didn't have any choice but to answer. I'm going to—"

"You're not going to do anything," Lexa said. "It happened. It's done. It's already out there."

"Lexa, I know that you're on top of the world right now," Titus said, switching into the patronizingly patient tone that set Lexa's teeth on edge. "You have every right to feel that way. But all of... _that_ is just a distraction, and—"

"It's not a distraction," Lexa said. "You're the one who's worried about it, not me." Which wasn't entirely true, but he was certainly investing more energy into it than she was. It was moments like this where she wondered if he was really on her side after all. 

"Someone has to do damage control," Titus said. "From now on, I—"

"What damage?" Lexa asked. "I've become a household name practically overnight! Zero to hero, America's newest media darling, viral sensation, whatever else people are calling me. People are talking about me. Isn't that what you want? The more recognition I get, the more recognition _you_ get, right? I thought that was the point." Because he sure as hell wasn't coaching her because he _cared_ about her. Maybe he had at first, but now... now he cared more about _being_ right than doing it. 

"You think that that's all that people are calling you?" Titus asked. "You obviously haven't been paying attention." 

"Maybe I haven't," Lexa admitted, "and maybe that's a good thing, because it means that at least one of us is actually focused on my training." She looked up at him, officially out of fucks to give. "You're my coach, not my publicist. So why don't you worry about what's happening on the slopes and not on social media?"

That shut him up. Lexa knew that it wouldn't last forever, but at least it got him to be quiet for now, and that was something. "We should go over the video from this morning," she said. Because analyzing and being raked over the coals for every tiny mistake that cost her a hundredth of a second was better than arguing about her reputation, or whatever he was worried about. 

"Fine," he said, turning on his heel and stalking off. She followed, because what choice did she have?

After what felt like an eternity of breaking down every twist and turn of the course, and how she'd gotten them wrong, her phone finally beeped, alerting her that she had fifteen minutes to get to the training center for her appointment. She stood up, rolling her right shoulder forward and back, wrinkling her nose as it resisted. 

"Where are you going?" Titus asked. 

"To see the training staff," she said, and then, because she was still pissed at him for being pissed at her, she added, "To see Clarke."

"No," he said. "Absolutely not. I talked to the staff and got that changed. You need to be seeing someone who knows what they're doing, not someone who is only there because her mother pulled strings."

And that was it. Her fuse reached its end. "You don't get to make that decision for me," Lexa said, "and you don't get to talk shit about her, either. She is there because she earned the right to be there. She knows what she's going, and what she lacks in experience, she makes up for in actually giving a shit. Twenty minutes with her and my shoulder felt better than it has in months. Twice as long with the gorilla that I was forced to see last time and, well..." she gestured at the paused video. "That's what you get. And I don't know about you, but I came here to win, and in order to do that, I need to be in top form. Clarke will get me there. End of story." _So fuck you._ She grabbed her jacket and shoved through the door, gulping in cold, clean air and doing her best to clear her mind as she hurried toward the training center, hoping that it wasn't too late to undo the damage Titus had done.

She was barely in the door when Dr. Griffin approached her. Clarke's mom, she knew, but also the head of the team here. "Ms. Woods," she said. "Can I talk to you for just a minute?"

Lexa wondered if one ever hit a point in their life where those words stopped causing a lurch in one's stomach. It was like being a child called into the principal's office as she followed Abby through the space, head up, looking straight ahead so she didn't accidentally make eye contact with anyone. Especially Clarke, who she knew was there somewhere – she had to be – and who brought up a whole different set up butterflies when she thought about seeing her. 

_Don't,_ a little voice in the back of her head warned her, a mix of her own voice and Titus'. _Don't get distracted._

Abby shut the door of the cluttered office and gestured for Lexa to have a seat in one of two chairs that wasn't covered in piles of papers or boxes of supplies. "I'm sorry for the mess," she said. "I thought I would have time to get everything sorted out before things really got going, but I was obviously wrong." Her smile was warm, comforting, and Lexa felt a little of the tightness in her chest ease. "I wanted to ask you about a change to your file," she said. "We had previously spoken about your preference for a female trainer, but then it was brought to my attention that you had been reassigned, and I just wanted to make sure that that was something that you had initiated and are comfortable with."

_Oh._ "That was a misunderstanding," she said, "between me and my coach. He wanted me to work with someone with more experience, and—"

"I assure you," Abby interrupted, although Lexa didn't think it was intentional, "that everyone here is fully qualified to offer you the best care possible."

"I know," Lexa said. "Like I said, it was a misunderstanding. I was very happy with the work that Clarke was doing, and if it's possible, I'd like to be assigned back to her."

"Of course," Abby said. "That's not a problem." She looked at Lexa for a long moment. "If you'd like, I can put a note on your file that any changes to your treatment need to come directly from you, and be approved by me. Just so there's no more... misunderstandings."

Lexa could have cried. Her throat swelled and her eyes stung, but she took a slow breath to steady herself and straightened in her chair. "Yes ma'am," she said. "I would appreciate that."

"Of course. Let me just check in with Clarke, make sure that she's free right now. If not, we may need to do a little bit of shuffling, have you come back a little later." Abby smiled at her, and for a second Lexa thought she might reach across the desk and touch her, but she didn't. "I'll be right back."

Lexa waited, jiggling her legs and fighting the urge to grin like an idiot. She'd won, and maybe it was a small victory, but in some ways it was more satisfying than getting the gold medal, if only because Titus had managed to strip all the joy from that with his dramatics afterward. But good things came in threes, they said, so if this was her second victory, she could hope that the third would come on the slopes tomorrow. 

Abby came back a couple of minutes later. "All set," she said, and motioned for Lexa to follow.

* * *

"Hey," Clarke said as Lexa boosted herself up onto her table. She wasn't sure what else to say. 

"Hi," Lexa replied, looking at her, those vivid green eyes not straying from her face. "I'm sorry about yesterday," she said. "It wasn't—"

"My mo—Dr. Griffin said that there was some kind of mix-up with your coach," Clarke said. "I'm glad it got sorted out." 

"Me too," Lexa replied. And maybe Clarke was imagining things, but she thought that for a second Lexa's gaze dropped to her mouth, but maybe that was just wishful thinking. Not that she was thinking of that. Or wishing for that. They were both professionals, and what had happened had been an impulsive act, a crime of opportunity without the crime part, fueled by adrenaline and overwhelming emotion. It wasn't going to – _couldn't_ \- happen again, and no amount of wishing could change that. 

"Congratulations, by the way," Clarke said. "I never got the chance to say that." 

Lexa looked back up into her eyes, and the way that they brightened as Lexa's lips tugged into a smile did things to Clarke's insides that they _definitely_ shouldn't. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you for coming to watch me. I can't remember if I said that. It's all kind of a blur." 

Was Lexa trying to distance herself from the kiss? Was that why she was saying that? But in her interview...

_Don't go there, Griffin,_ Clarke warned herself. _Focus on the work._

"Anything you want me to focus on today?" Clarke asked. "Other than your shoulder?"

Lexa shook her head. "Everything else is good," she said. "The shoulder is definitely tight, though." Clarke thought she saw her cheek indent, like she was biting the inside of it, hesitating before she added, "Worse than before." 

"Okay," Clarke said. "Maybe we'll do some ultrasound on it along with the stretching. Make sure that it's as good as we can get it before tomorrow. That's when you race, right?" She knew damn well that that's when Lexa raced; the women's alpine skiing schedule was permanently etched into the fissures of her brain. 

"As long as the weather holds, yes," Lexa said. "Which..." She wrinkled her nose, and damn it, she needed to stop doing that, stop being so fucking _cute_ along with beautiful and intelligent, and... "Sometimes I wish I'd opted for a sport that was indoors so the weather wouldn't matter." She flashed a crooked smile, and Clarke smiled back. 

"We'll keep you in fighting form until the race," Clarke promised. "May I?" She held out her hands toward Lexa's shoulder. 

"Yes," Lexa said. "Please." 

Clarke took a breath in through her nose, letting it out through her mouth on a long count, hoping that she managed to be subtle enough with it that Lexa didn't notice. She put her hands on Lexa's shoulder, feeling steadier, more in control, as soon as she got to work. 

Lexa stayed mostly quiet, but she did tell Clarke when something hurt, or just didn't feel right, like Clarke had asked, and together they worked out the knots until Lexa had her full range of motion back, and tension Clarke hadn't even realized she was showing in her face had been erased. "Thank you," Lexa said. "That feels so much better."

"You're welcome," Clarke said. "Do you have time before your race tomorrow to come back?"

"It would have to be really early," Lexa said. "Like... six-thirty."

"I don't mind," Clarke told her. _I can't think of a better way to start the day than getting to see you... and talk to you... and touch you..._ But she didn't say that. _Couldn't_ say that, no matter how much she wanted to, no matter how true it was. 

"Okay," Lexa said. "I'll see you tomorrow." She slid down off the table and for a second they just stood there, face to face and a little too close.

"Keep it loose. Ice if you need it," Clarke said, and this time she was _sure_ Lexa was looking at her mouth, even if was only for a second before she wrenched her gaze away, back up to Clarke's eyes, but that didn't feel safe either. 

"I will," Lexa said. 

"And try to stay away from people who cause you too much stress," Clarke added, not sure what possessed her, what made her so bold, but it was clear that there was something going on with Lexa's coach, something that, on a scale of 'not good' to 'abusive' probably rate around 'ugly'. Which wasn't her business, exactly, but it was her job to help Lexa stay in the best physical shape she could be, and so much of that was actually mental – mind over matter and all that – so keeping her away from mental and emotional stressors would only help her physically. "Doctor's orders." 

Lexa's lips pressed together, trying to hide a smile. "Are you a doctor now?"

"No," Clarke admitted, "but if you want I can get my mom to tell you the same thing." 

"No need," Lexa said. "Thanks again."

"Of course," Clarke said. She watched as Lexa left, and waved to her when she stopped at the door and looked back. Once she was gone, Clarke leaned on her table, feeling as if she'd just run the 100-meter dash with the way that her heart was thudding. 

One of the athletes stood up from the bench where he'd been waiting, a boy with shaggy, dirty blonde hair that straggled into his face, and came over. He looked at Clarke, then at the door, then back at Clarke, and his eyes went wide. "Holy shit," he whispered. "It was _you_."


	4. Chapter 4

"I don't know what you're talking about," Clarke said, going for breezy and falling so far short of the mark that the boy's eyes went wide and he held up his hands.

"Sorry," he said. "I just..."

"Can I help you with something?" Clarke asked, and there was still an edge to her tone that she needed to dull real fast before she got herself in trouble. 

"I'm, um... your next patient?" he said, pointing to her tablet. "I mean I should be. Aden Wolfe?"

She looked down, her forehead furrowing, and there, sure enough, was his name. A snowboarder, which made sense given his age and the unkempt (although perhaps intentionally so) state of his hair. "Right," she said. "Of course. Go ahead and hop up on the table while I just..." She gestured at her screen. She hadn't worked with him before; based on a quick scan of the file it was nothing acute, just an old injury (although how old could it possibly be considering the fact that he didn't look like he could be more than sixteen?) that they were managing. 

"May I?" Clarke asked, pointing at his knee. 

He shrugged. "Sure." 

She ran through the standard battery of tests to get a baseline of where he was, then got out the ultrasound machine to try to bring down the slight swelling in his right knee. After a few minutes she glanced up at him. "I'm sorry about earlier," she said. "I didn't mean to snap."

"It's fine," he said. "I shouldn't have said anything. It's none of my business."

"It's not..." Clarke shook her head. "It not like that. It's not... there's nothing going on between us. She was just excited, and I was there, and—" She cut herself off before she could say anything stupid. "It's all been blown way out of proportion."

"Oh," Aden said. He actually sounded disappointed. "It wouldn't... if there _was_ something... it wouldn't be a big deal. To me. I don't—it would actually be kind of cool if she was—y'know. And I just thought with how you looked at each other..." He shrugged. "But it's cool. I get it. Like I said, none of my business and I shouldn't have said anything." He seemed to shrink into himself a little. 

"It's okay," Clarke said. "Really. It's..." She leaned in, giving him a conspiratorial wink. "I'm certainly not complaining." 

"I met her," Aden said. "Before. She probably wouldn't remember, but I met her at the medal ceremony. She was kind of distracted, but she was nice." 

"She _is_ nice," Clarke agreed. "Did you go to watch, or...?"

His cheeks flushed slightly. "Um. I got a medal. Bronze."

"Congratulations!" Clarke said. "That's awesome."

His lips twisted into a crooked, shy smile. "Yeah. It is." 

After he left, Clarke couldn't stop thinking about what he'd said about how it would be cool if Lexa was... y'know. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the 'y'know' in question was gay, and that he might have a personal stake in wanting there to be an elite athlete, if not in his sport than at least in a similar one, who was willing to stand up and be a role model for other... y'know athletes. 

But what kind of burden would that be? What would it do to her career prospects? Athletes often relied on sponsorships to pay for their expenses, didn't they? From what she knew of Lexa's background, she didn't have some dragon's hoard of wealth to pay for travel and equipment and everything else. If she came out, would that ruin her chances of getting companies to back her, crippling her career before it even had a chance to find its legs? 

On the other hand, hadn't she already practically said it? Not in so many words, but she hadn't tried to play off the fact that she'd chosen to kiss a girl when asked about it. She hadn't tried to deny the conclusions that people would inevitably draw. She'd even called Clarke special... whatever _that_ meant. 

On the _other_ other hand (and how many times had Clarke wished for an extra one when working with patients?) it wasn't her place to be having these thoughts. It was Lexa's. But did she know what it would mean? Did she have any idea the potential influence she could have? 

Clarke shoved the thought, along with every other thought – and there were many, of an alarming variety – about Lexa out of her head and focused on the patients in front of her until her shift was over. She suddenly wished she'd exchanged numbers with Lexa; she could have done it under the guise of arranging when they were going to meet in the morning. She could have asked her to meet for dinner, if she hadn't already eaten. There wasn't anything inappropriate in that, right? Just a meal with another member of Team USA. Move along, nothing to see here.

She made her way to dining hall, unable to stop herself from scanning the faces, searching for her in the crowd and not finding her. She tried to pretend that the empty feeling in her gut was just hunger, not disappointment, and got her food to go.

* * *

Lexa nearly jumped out of her skin when a tray slammed down across from her. Maybe not even slammed. Maybe the tray hit the table at a perfectly reasonable velocity and volume. Maybe she was just on edge.

No. Not maybe. She was _definitely_ on edge. Her head was a mess and her nerves were shot, and this wasn't where she needed to be – mentally – the night before a race. 

She looked up at the hand thrust in her face and blinked. "I'm Anya," the woman offering the hand said. 

Lexa took her hand and shook it. "Lex—"

"I know who you are," Anya said, rolling her eyes as she dropped into her seat. "And I'm slightly hurt that _you_ don't know who _I_ am, but I'm willing to overlook that." She smirked. "You've got other things on your mind."

"That's an understatement," Lexa thought, only the thought slipped off her tongue and past her lips before she could stop it. She clenched her jaw, took a breath in through her nose and let it out slowly. 

"I bet." The smirk turned into a more understanding smile. "I would say I get it, that I've been where you are, but I haven't." Anya picked up her knife and fork and began to cut her chicken breast into bite-sized pieces. "I was on skis practically as soon as I could walk, and I'm pretty sure I had my first race before I could even write my name. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe I peaked too young."

Lexa looked at her again, and the pieces clicked into place. Anya Forrester, Alpine Prodigy, whose career had seemed to be on the fast track to putting her as one of the all-time greats... until she got old enough to compete at the highest level and plateaued. Her technique was impeccable, her turns and alignment were beyond reproach. The only thing she lacked was what was, in the end, the thing that mattered most: speed. 

She just wasn't fast enough, and in her adult career she was always the bridesmaid, never the bride. Her crowning achievement had been an Olympic bronze eight years ago, after which she'd called it quits. Except she obviously hadn't left the sport completely, because here she was. 

"I'm gonna be blunt," Anya said, "because I don't know how else to be, and although I don't know you – yet – I get the sense that you're the type of person who prefers to rip off the Band-Aid, as it were." She looked at Lexa as if waiting for some kind of response. Lexa jerked her chin down once in agreement. "Right. So I'm just going to lay it out there: I saw your interview earlier, and then saw you with your coach after. You're good, Lexa. Really good. And you _could_ be great. He could probably even get you there, but it would be on his terms, not yours."

Anya paused, waited for Lexa to look at her, and when their eyes met Lexa couldn't have looked away even if she'd wanted to. There was something in Anya, some intensity that kept her locked in place. "I don't have his experience. Maybe I don't have his influence either. But I don't give a shit who you kiss, or when and where you kiss them, as long as you give a hundred and ten percent on the slopes. It's not a problem unless you make it a problem. Understand?" 

Lexa nodded, trying to work up enough moisture in a mouth gone suddenly dry as the Sahara to reply, but it wasn't happening. Not with Anya still looking at her like she could see straight into the parts of her brain that she tried to hide even from herself. Not when the mere mention of the kiss was enough to make her think about Clarke, and Clarke's hands on her body... Clarke's hands on parts of her body that she'd never actually touched...

Anya slid a card across the table to her. "Think about it," she said. "And good luck tomorrow." She picked up her tray and as suddenly as she'd appeared, she was gone. 

Lexa's hand shook as she laid it over the card, sliding it off the table. She should just let it drop to the floor and forget any of this had ever happened. Titus would kill her if he knew she was even considering...

Which was exactly why she _was_ considering it. Anya had known exactly what she was doing. She'd known how to lure her, and Lexa taken the bait, swallowed it hook, line, and sinker. 

Her next race was in less than 24 hours. That should be as far into the future as she let herself think. But for the first time since Titus had spotted her on the slopes during a stupid spring break ski trip she'd been on with friends and yanked her out of obscurity (and college) to become his Next Big Thing, she was starting to see that maybe it was possible to be that – because yes, she wanted it, wanted it more than anything or she wouldn't _be_ here – _and more_.

She kept the card.

She knew she'd call.

* * *

Clarke was relieved to find her room empty when she got back. She wasn't sure she was ready to face Raven right now. There was no guarantee that she had seen the interview... but it seemed likely that if she hadn't caught it when it initially aired, she would have seen it, or at least the relevant clip, in replay. She hadn't dared check social media, but she suspected that the "special" moment had probably spread just as quickly and as far as the picture of the kiss.

She ate her dinner on autopilot, not really tasting it until she got to dessert: a thick, fudgy brownie drizzled with caramel and sprinkled with some kind of nut – pecans, maybe. Her head tipped back, and her eyes closed as the flavors flooded her mouth. Her mind wandered to Lexa, and whether she could eat something like this and what would her face look like when she did...

The sound of the door opening jerked her back to reality, and she ducked her head, hoping that her cheeks weren't as red as they felt. 

"I'm not staying," Raven said. "I just needed to grab a few things." She grinned. "I don't plan to be back tonight, so you'll have the room to yourself." 

"Okay," Clarke said, which felt like an insufficient response, but it was all that she could muster. She wrapped up the rest of the brownie and tucked it into the mini fridge for later. Tomorrow, maybe, after Lexa's race. To celebrate, or as consolation... whichever was in order. Maybe a little of both if she made the podium but didn't get gold. 

Raven puttered around the room for a few minutes, grabbing clothing and a few other necessities and stuffing them into a duffel bag. She slung it over her shoulder and marched out again without so much as a wave. 

She'd been gone several minutes before Clarke realized that she'd left something behind. Sitting on Clarke's bed, propped up against her pillow, was a vibrator. Next to it was a note in Raven's hurried yet still perfectly legible scrawl: 'A special gift for a special girl.'

"Fuck you," she snarled, but of course Raven wasn't there to hear her. Good thing, because Clarke was sure that she would have some witty response. Something like, 'No thanks, that's what your new friend is for,' or 'You're not my type, but I'm pretty sure I know whose type you are.' With a knowing smirk that would make Clarke contemplate whether the consequences of throttling your roommate in the Olympic Village would be worth it. 

She tossed the gift and note into the drawer of her night table and went to take a shower. She stayed under the stream longer than she probably should have, because with nothing to do as she scrubbed shampoo through her hair and lathered body wash over her skin, she couldn't keep her mind away from the one thing that she absolutely should not be thinking about. She'd sworn to her mother, promised her... and she'd meant it. She wasn't going to break that promise. It wasn't worth jeopardizing how people viewed her as a professional. It just wasn't. 

But what she did outside the room and what she did in her own head were two totally separate things, and maybe if she let herself... just once... she would get it out of her system and she could go back to being the calm, cool, collected professional that she was. 

She got out and toweled off, not bothering to put on pajamas before slipping under the covers and reaching into her drawer. She slid her hands back beneath the sheets, tracing them over her skin slowly, imagining it was someone else touching her, someone whose green eyes smiled even when her lips didn't, brightening a shade or two in the process, and what color would they be if she was here? If she was touching Clarke _there_ , like _that_ , if...

Clarke let her legs fall to the sides as she slid her new battery-operated-boy... _girlfriend_ through the slick heat between them and flicked it on, letting out a breath that started a sigh and ended a moan.

Maybe she wouldn't kill Raven after all...

* * *

After a quick breakfast (because she had to be careful about what she ate and when she ate it before a race) Lexa made her way to the training center, stuffing her hands deep into her pockets while she waited for Clarke to arrive. She could just go inside – the lights were on so _someone_ was home – but she didn't want to. She wanted to see Clarke first, or Clarke to see her first, or something. 

She was being ridiculous and she knew it, but she didn't care. She'd slept better the night before than she had since her arrival to the Olympic Village and woken up feeling truly awake and alive for the first time. Maybe she had just finally recovered from jet lag, but Lexa was pretty sure it was more than that. She was already smiling as she traced her fingers along the edge of the business card she was still carrying, but her face split into a grin when she saw a flash of blonde coming toward her. 

"Good morning," she said when Clarke was close enough to hear.

Clarke's cheeks were flushed from the cold, and maybe the wind was in her eyes because she didn't quite look at Lexa as she returned the greeting. She was smiling, though, and she was _here_ despite the fact that the sun was still just thinking about showing itself. "Ready?" she asked, pulling open the door. She didn't wait for an answer.

Lexa followed her in and shed her coat, heading straight for Clarke's table and boosting herself up. "You may," she said, before Clarke could even ask, and was rewarded with a soft laugh.

"You're in a good mood this morning," Clarke said. 

"I am," Lexa agreed. 

"Good," Clarke said. She worked Lexa's shoulder through the usual tests of strength and range of motion. "Seems like you've managed to stay pretty relaxed," she added. "It's pretty much the same as when you left yesterday." 

Lexa felt a slight pang, thinking that probably meant Clarke would send her on her way. There was no point in having her stick around if there was nothing to do be done, right? But Clarke's hands were still on her shoulder and arm; she could feel the warmth of them soaking through her t-shirt and into her skin, better than any ultrasound wave. 

"A little bit of a massage can't hurt, though," Clarke said. "See if we can get you to 110% ready." She winked. 

Lexa pressed her lips together and swallowed back the soft sound – she wasn't sure what you would call it, other than embarrassing and completely inappropriate – that threatened to escape. "Sounds good," she said, grateful when her voice came out only a little bit strangled. 

"All you need to do is breathe," Clarke said, "and let me work my magic."

It really did feel like magic, and Lexa closed her eyes and did as she was told, letting her slip into a sort of trance like she did before a race. She ran through the course in her mind a few times, and then just let her mind go blissfully blank. She only came back when Clarke's hands stilled, but stayed on her shoulder, squeezing gently before letting go. 

"All set," Clarke said. "All systems go, cleared for takeoff, all of that." 

Lexa let out a breath, the barest hint of a laugh. "Are you a PT or an air traffic controller?"

"The way things get in here sometimes? A little bit of both," Clarke said. She offered a hand to help Lexa sit up and didn't let go right away. Neither did Lexa, so they just sat there looking at each other for the space of several heartbeats and a single, slow breath that they released together as their hands slid apart.

They were alone. There was no one around to see, and for one single, stupid second Lexa thought about pulling Clarke in, pressing their lips together, kissing her again, for real this time, giving Clarke the opportunity to kiss her back...

... or not, and that, more than anything, was what stopped her. Maybe Clarke didn't _want_ to kiss her back. Maybe she was glad that the circumstances of their respective roles didn't allow for it. 

Lexa swallowed, looked down, her heart beating too hard and too fast, and she wondered if Clarke could see her pulse pounding in her neck. "I guess... we're done?" she asked. 

"For now," Clarke said, and Lexa looked up, and she couldn't, she _couldn't_. Not here. Not now. But the way that Clarke's eyes roved her face, snagging on her lips and lingering just a little too long... maybe someday? 

She swallowed again. "I know you're busy, but... maybe if you have a minute? Well, more than a minute, but not much more, for a single run." She forced a smile. "You don't have to," she added quickly. "But if you wanted..."

Something flashed across Clarke's face, too quick for Lexa to catch hold of it and process it. "I don't know," Clarke said. 

Lexa clamped down on her disappointment, nodded, looking down. "I underst—" She stopped when she felt Clarke's hand on hers, her fingers wrapped gently around Lexa's wrist. She looked up again, and Clarke was so close, and she wasn't imagining this... whatever it was, this _spark_ between them. 

"I'll try," Clarke said. 

Lexa's heart soared, and she didn't even try to stop it. She let it lift her, shoulders back and spine straight, as she slid off the table. "Then I'll be looking for you," she said. "Wish me luck?"

"You don't need it," Clarke said. "I've seen you race." She smiled. "But good luck. And come see me if you need me." 

"What if I don't?" Lexa asked. 

Clarke's lower lip slid through her teeth and Lexa couldn't tell if it was uncertainty or if she was fighting back a grin... or something else. The light in her eyes danced. "Come see me anyway."


	5. Chapter 5

Clarke stuck her head into her mother's office, rapping her knuckles against the frame. "Mo—" She caught herself. "Dr. Griffin? Do you have a minute?"

Abby looked up and smiled, rolling her eyes slightly. "Come in," she said. "And it's not as if everyone doesn't know that you're my daughter." 

"I know," Clarke said. "I'm just... trying to establish professional boundaries, I guess. That's what you want, isn't it?" Her mother tilted her head slightly, her smile slipping away, and Clarke realized that her words might have sounded like some kind of accusation. They weren't meant to be. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, shifting a box of supplies off one of the chairs so that she could sit down. "I just meant that even though everyone knows you're my mom, you're also my boss, so I feel like when we're in here I should treat you like everyone else does, and you should treat me like you treat everyone else."

Abby's frown deepened. "I do," she said. "I expect—"

Clarke held up her hand, her expression pinched. This really wasn't going well. "I know," she said. "That's..." She sighed. "I'm here to ask you for a favor," she said. "So maybe I don't want you to treat me like everyone else after all."

Abby seemed to both stiffen and relax at the same time. "You wouldn't be the first member of the staff to ask me for a favor," she said. "What is it?"

She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to figure out the best way to ask for what she wanted without it turning into a bigger deal than it needed to be. "I was hoping I could get a little time off today," Clarke said finally. "There's an event I want to attend."

Up went Abby's eyebrows and down went the corners of her mouth, and Clarke was pretty sure this conversation was already over. "Clarke, we've talked about this," she said. "You came in here talking about professional boundaries, and—"

"It's not like that!" Clarke said, too quickly and too loud. She brought her voice down, wishing she'd closed the door behind her. "Mom, I swear it's not like that. Even if—" Her cheeks flushed, imagined memories of the night before rising unbidden. "I know that nothing can happen as long as she's my patient. I'm not looking to damage my reputation, and neither is she."

"It doesn't seem like she's all that concerned with her reputation," Abby said. "If anything, this has worked to her advantage."

Clarke shook her head. "She's not looking to damage _my_ reputation, I mean." She made herself stop fidgeting with the edges of her sleeves. "She asked me to come to her race," she said. "If I can get away. And I want to go. I want to be there. She doesn't have many—she doesn't have _anyone_ here for her. I don't think it's overstepping professional boundaries to be there for her. As a friend. Nothing... nothing is going to happen. I won't let anything happen. But she asked, Mom, and I don't want to—" _Break her heart,_ were the words that rose to mind, but Clarke held them back. "—let her down."

Abby frowned. "It's a fine line, Clarke," she said. "A finer one than it would otherwise have been, given what's already happened." The worry lines in her forehead smoothed out a little and she sighed. "Let me look at your schedule, see if I can do some rearranging. I'm not making any promises, but I'm expecting at least one from you."

"No kissing," Clarke said. "I promise."

* * *

Lexa let the lightness in her chest carry her as she went through the rest of her pre-race routine. As she ascended the mountain, she focused on getting her head in the game, getting herself into that hyper-focused state that she needed to handle the split-second timing of a run down the course. Today's event was slalom, where she was competitive but didn't excel in the same way that she did in giant slalom. She was coming into the event as a contender for the podium, but not one of the gold medal favorites. 

She told herself it didn't matter and put up her walls so that anything Titus might say to contradict that fact would just bounce right off. She wasn't going to let him bring her down. Not today. She wasn't racing for him anymore. She was racing for herself, and maybe... maybe a little bit for a certain blonde who made her feel more and better than she had in years. Maybe ever. Or maybe not for her, but the prospect of seeing her at the finish line might just be the extra little push she needed if it came down to fractions of seconds between being two-time gold medalist Lexa Woods, and a footnote of failure. 

She forced herself to breathe and actually listen when Titus gave her the most recent reports of the course condition. She was fairly late in the line-up, which meant that there was a pretty good chance that they would change before she was up, but they would keep getting updates right until she entered the starting gate, and she would just have to adjust accordingly. She was used to it. She was even good at it. 

Lexa closed her eyes, shifting her weight back and forth as she ran through the course in her head, checked her gear, then ran through it one last time. She looked to Titus as the woman ahead of her began her run, and he gave her a grim nod. She nodded back and got herself into position. 

The long shrill beep that signaled the start of her run sounded, and then Lexa was flying, shifting second by second from one edge to the other, poles out in front of her to catch the gates and push them aside, the sharp crack echoing in her ears as she hit them with her guarded hands, or across her also-guarded forearm. It happened too fast for her to think about what she was doing; she just did it, until her view opened up and she could see the finish line. She crashed through the last two gates, throwing her weight forward as she cleared the line, and skidded to a stop. 

On any other day, at any other race, she would have immediately looked to the board that told her how fast she'd run, but today she looked the other way, searching the crowd for a familiar face... and not finding it. Which didn't mean that Clarke wasn't here; it just meant she hadn't managed to position herself somewhere where Lexa could see her. Or maybe it did mean that Clarke wasn't here, but she had her own job to do, and Lexa couldn't fault her for that. It didn't mean she didn't _want_ to be here. It didn't mean she didn't care. 

It also didn't mean that Lexa didn't feel a little twinge of... something, she didn't even know what to call it, to find herself alone as the crowd roared. She finally looked at her time, and then had to look again, squinting as if maybe glare from the sun on the snow had caused her to read it wrong. But she hadn't. 

She was tied for first place, and second was only a hundredth of a second behind, third only four hundredths behind that. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. This afternoon was going to be the race of a lifetime.

* * *

Everything stopped in the training room when the women's slalom came on the screen, or at least it felt that way to Clarke. They all watched as Lexa sped down the mountain, eyes on the clock in the upper corner of the screen that compared her time to that of the current leader, watched as she inched ahead and then fell behind by fractions of a second, and then watched as she flew across the line with the exact same time as the woman currently in place to take the gold medal. 

Clarke gulped in a breath, the world that existed outside of the screen in the corner of the room edging back into her awareness. She saw her mother approaching her, and she forced herself to look busy, preparing for the next athlete.

"I'm sorry you missed it," her mother said. "I just couldn't—"

"It's fine," Clarke said. "I'm here to work."

"I know," Abby said. "That doesn't mean you're not allowed to have fun, nor does it mean that you're not allowed to be disappointed at having to miss an event that you really wanted to see." She smiled. "I was able to get you the afternoon free, though, so you can make it to the second run. It looks like it's going to be quite a race." 

It took every ounce of restraint Clarke possessed not to throw her arms around her mother. She was pretty sure that it showed on her face, though, because Abby laughed. "You're welcome," she said. "Another piece of potentially good news – one of the ski coaches wanted me to give you this." She handed Clarke a business card. Clarke stomach fluttered as she took it, afraid of what she might see. "She said to give her a call after the games. Well, first she asked if you had anything already lined up, job-wise, and maybe I shouldn't have said anything, but I know that you're not particularly excited about any of the prospects you have so far, so I told her that you were still exploring your options. _Then_ she said to give her a call."

Clarke bit the inside of her lip. Under other circumstances, she might have been bothered by her mother meddling, but it wasn't really meddling, was it? What her mom had told – she glanced down at the card – Anya Forrester was true. She _was_ still exploring her options. "Thank you," Clarke said, tucking the card into her pocket. "For this and for... finding a way."

Abby raised her eyebrows. "Just remember your promise," she said. 

Clarke grinned. "I will. Don't worry."

* * *

"You need to stay focused," Titus said. "You need to keep your head in the game. No distractions. There is _no_ margin for error today. One slip and—"

"I know," Lexa snapped. "You're not helping." 

Titus stared at her, but at least he stopped his doom-and-gloom litany. He stalked off to get another course report, maybe, or just to get away from her. She didn't care; she was just grateful for the breathing room that it afforded her.

She couldn't even see the end of the course from here, so there was no way for her to know whether Clarke was there or not. She hadn't gone to see her between races because she'd decided she didn't want to know if she'd been in the audience this morning, or if she would be there now. It was hope that had gotten her this far, and she wasn't letting go of it until – no, _unless_ \- she absolutely had to.

She gripped her poles a little too hard, her knuckles aching with more than just the cold that managed to find its way through every seam, and forced herself to relax. _Deep breaths, Woods,_ she said. _Don't tense up. You've got this. 110% ready, remember?_

She remembered Clarke's smile, her fingers on her skin, the way she'd gripped her hand for just a little longer than was necessary (if it had been necessary at all), and the cold receded just a little. She closed her eyes and began her pre-flight check, because if Clarke was an air traffic controller, that made her the pilot, right?

She forced down the corners of her mouth when Titus approached, not wanting to give him the chance to ask what she was smiling about. She just listened as he went over the spots where people were running into trouble, formulating her own plan as to how to handle them even as he offered his own advice. 

Too soon (but also an eternity later) she took up her place in the starting gate. She stomped her feet, checking her skis, and dug in her poles. Her whole world narrowed down to the course in front of her as she pushed off.

* * *

Clarke had gotten to the mountain early enough that she hadn't had to scramble to position herself to be able to see Lexa's run, and her credentials and a somewhat specious explanation of why she needed to be at the course finish had gotten her a perfect view of the giant monitors that allowed them to watch as each woman crisscrossed the snow, dodging from one gate to the next to the next (crashing into them more often than not, and how did that not _hurt_?) until they finally hit the point where they could actually see them rocket to and past the line. 

It was a mixed blessing, it turned out, because being there earlier meant she wasn't just seeing Lexa, but all of the competitors, and even though each individual run was quick, time still seemed to drag. Clarke had dressed in her warmest gear, but when the wind gusted it seemed to go right through her. She could only imagine how it must feel for the skiers in their spandex suits, because there was no way they could be wearing much under them. (And she was _not_ thinking about how she might find out what was underneath Lexa's... even though it might warm her up a little bit...)

About halfway through, one of the athletes missed a gate and went skidding off the course, crashing into the fencing along the side. Clarke cringed, wrapping her arms tight around herself and barely breathing until the woman picked herself up and made her way slowly down the rest of the course. There were a few other mishaps, but nothing too dramatic. Almost too soon, it was down to the last group of competitors, the ones who were in medal contention, and Clarke's stomach was instantly in knots. What if something happened to Lexa? What if she lost control and got hurt? What if...?

_Calm down, Griffin,_ she told herself, although the voice in her head sounded more than a little like Lexa's, tinged with amusement. _She's a professional. She does this all the time. You're the one who told her she didn't need luck._

Even so, she found herself biting her lip as the woman just ahead of Lexa crossed the finish line. Lexa was next – second to last again – and she didn't know if she could take it. She closed her eyes to gather herself... 

"Are you serious?" someone asked, jostling her shoulder. "You came here and waited all this time and you're not going to watch her race?"

Clarke's eyes popped open and she blinked at the tall woman next to her, all cheekbones and amused smirk. "How do you know—" she started, but stopped at the woman's rather epic eyeroll. 

"I'm not stupid, and I'm not blind," she said. She held out her hand. "I'm Anya." Clarke blinked, realizing this was the same woman whose business card was in her wallet. "Now don't you dare miss this or your girlfriend will never forgive you."

"She's not—" But Clarke snapped her mouth shut as Lexa popped up on the screen, deftly weaving between the gates - _thwack thwack thwack_ \- and tucking down on the brief straightaways. Her eyes flicked to the time in the corner, lit up in green to show that she was ahead of the leader and gaining, one one-hundredth of a second at a time...

... and then she was in view, crashing through the last few gates going so fast that Clarke honestly didn't know how she was going to stop before hitting the fence at the end of the... landing zone, or whatever it was called. 

A spray of snow went up as she turned sideways, digging in the edges of her skis, and the wind caught it and sent it shimmering through the air. Clarke felt it dot against her face and melt, pinpricks of cold on her cheeks that felt suddenly flushed. Her heart was pounding and she wasn't actually sure she'd breathed or blinked at all for the duration of the run. She glanced next to her, but Anya was gone. And then Lexa's eyes found her, and she forgot about Anya completely.

* * *

Lexa dug her poles in, making her way over to where Clarke was standing. She held back until Clarke reached out toward her, and then she leaned over the barrier between them and wrapped her in an awkward one-armed hug as her poles dangled from the other. 

"I promised my mom no kissing," Clarke said, practically shouting when the crowd roared, signaling the start of the last competitor's run. 

Lexa would have laughed, but for once Clarke's presence didn't absorb all of her attention. She turned to look at the screens, at the time and how close it was to hers, and if she only got silver that would be okay, she hadn't come in expecting gold... and yet...

And then it happened. To just about anyone else watching, it probably didn't look like anything, but Lexa saw it. Lexa saw the tiny slip of the ski that forced her competition to go farther around the gate than was necessary, disrupting her line for the next turn, and the time flipped from green to red, just like that. She watched her fighting, trying to make up the lost time, and there was still a chance, still the tiniest—

She crossed the finish line and for the second time that day Lexa stared at the board, not believing what she was seeing.

She'd done it. She'd won. By 0.02 seconds, she'd won. 

"Holy..." She looked at Clarke, but before she could say anything or do anything, she was surrounded by the other skiers, grabbing her and squeezing her shoulders, pounding her back, and she was being dragged away, but she couldn't just _leave_ her...

She pressed her glove to her mouth and held it out to Clarke, who managed to clasp it for a second, just long enough, and then she pressed her fingers to her own lips. 

Lexa told herself it was the adrenaline, just the adrenaline, that made her eyes fill with tears.

* * *

The last few days of the games were a blur. In between patients, they were working on getting things organized and packed up so that they wouldn't be scrambling to do it later, when they could be enjoying the festivities a little more as things wound down. Clarke barely saw Lexa, except on the TV when she accepted her second gold medal and did interviews. Her events were over, so there was no reason for her to come to the training room. Even so, Clarke found herself looking over at the door way too often, hoping every time it opened that it would be her. 

On the last day, just when she'd given up hope, she came back to her station after taking a box of supplies and adding it to the stack of things that would eventually get shipped back to one Olympic training facility or other, to find Lexa sitting on her table. She lifted her hand in greeting. 

For several breaths they just stared at each other, and Clarke knew she wasn't imagining Lexa's eyes dropping to her lips, because hers were doing the same thing, and all she wanted - _all_ she wanted – was to kiss her. Her heart pounded, and her hands shook with the effort it took not to sink her fingers into Lexa's hair and tug. 

Clarke watched Lexa's throat work as she swallowed, watched as her tongue traced a path over her lips, and it wasn't fair, none of this was fair...

"Things have been so—" Lexa started.

"Congratulations," Clarke said at the same time. "I didn't—"

"Thank you," Lexa said. "I wanted to come sooner, I just—"

"It's okay. Really. I get it. You—"

"Do you? Because I—"

"I—"

Both of them stuttered to a stop. It was impossible. They couldn't say what they wanted to say, couldn't do what they wanted to do, and Clarke hated it. Hated _her_ , for the briefest possible moment, for making her feel this way – raw, exposed, helpless, just completely fucking desperate for... what?

What was this? 

It wasn't anything.

But what could it be, if they were allowed? If they allowed it? 

"Are you going to the closing ceremonies?" Lexa asked. 

Clarke shrugged. "We're pretty busy—"

"You can go if you want to," her mother said. Clarke hadn't even realized she was there. She wondered what she'd seen, what she'd heard. Not that they'd said or done anything that they shouldn't have. "You _should_ go."

"Don't I need a ticket or something?" Clarke asked. 

"You're part of Team USA," Lexa said. "You just need your credentials. You can march in with everyone else."

"I'm not an athlete," Clarke said. "I can't just—"

"You can," Lexa said. "I checked. It's... not a lot of people do, but you can. There's no rule against it. It's not as formal as the opening ceremonies." She licked her lips again, her eyes shining bright green. "I could always lend you one of my medals. Then no one would question you." 

Clarke laughed, but she shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "That's all for you guys, not for people like me."

"Please," Lexa said. "I couldn't have done it without you."

Clarke started to shake her head again, but the look on Lexa's face stopped her. When she'd asked for time to go to Lexa's race, she'd said it was because Lexa didn't have anyone there with her. That hadn't changed, and how would it feel to be surrounded by other athletes and yet still somehow alone?

"Okay," she said. "I'll be there." 

"With me," Lexa said.

"With you."

* * *

Getting dressed for the closing ceremony was easy: they had a uniform that they were required to wear. Lexa put on a little makeup, knowing that with all of the attention she'd drawn both on the slopes and off, the cameras were going to find her. Which meant they would find Clarke, too, and she hadn't thought of that. Had Clarke?

They'd agreed on a place to meet, and Lexa arrived ten minutes early, just in case, and found Clarke already waiting. They both laughed, embarrassed and slightly giddy, and Lexa held out her hand and found herself engulfed in Clarke's arms, her face crushed into the fluffy shoulder of her jacket. 

"Sorry," Clarke said, but the smile on her face said otherwise. "I've wanted to do that since you won your second race." 

Lexa wrapped her arms around Clarke, their foreheads resting against each other. _Is that all you wanted to do?_ , she thought. _Because that's not even a fraction of—_ Heat flooded her face, and she clenched her jaw to keep the words from tumbling out. 

Instead she took a deep breath. "People are going to see us," she said. "Together. I didn't think about it until just now, and if you want to change your mind..."

"People have already seen us together," Clarke said. "And you already—"

Lexa frowned when the rest of the sentence failed to materialize. "I already what?"

Clarke shook her head. "Never mind." She closed her eyes for a second, shaking her head so that the tip of her nose brushed Lexa's. "I think they're trying to herd us into place." 

Lexa glanced over at where the athletes were assembling, not by country anymore, but just one amorphous mass of multinational bodies that milled and seethed as people greeted friends and strangers alike as if they'd known them forever. She nodded and let Clarke go... then thought better of it and grabbed her hand. She didn't want to lose her in the crowd.

Clarke held on, and Lexa took that to mean she wasn't afraid of being seen. They began the march in, and Lexa's fingers tightened around Clarke's. When she looked over, she found Clarke looking back at her. "You know," Clarke said, "this is the _closing_ ceremony. Which mean the games are officially over. Which means..."

"... that I'm not your patient anymore," Lexa finished for her. "Which means there is absolutely no reason whatsoever we can't—"

As they stepped into the brilliance of the stadium lights, the flashbulbs and TV cameras and several thousand cell phones, Clarke pulled her into a kiss, and for a second her entire world was just Clarke's lips against hers, Clarke's hand on her neck, Clarke...

And then it exploded into chaos as people around them noticed and voiced their approval with whistles and cheers. Lexa couldn't help laughing at Clarke's startled expression. She pulled her in again, wrapping her arm around her neck. "I did try to warn you," she said. 

"I just—"

A teenaged boy with a bronze medal around his neck came up to them, grinning. "I thought you said it wasn't like that," he said. 

"It wasn't," Clarke said, smiling back at him. "But it is now."

"Awesome," the boy said, and then got swept away by a gang of his friends. 

"I hope you're ready to be a headline," Lexa said. 

"No one cares about me," Clarke said. "You're the one—"

"I do," Lexa said. "And so are you."

* * *

**ALL THAT GLITTERS IS GOLD**

In 2018, first time Olympian Alexandria 'Lexa' Woods took the Alpine skiing world by storm with two gold medals, but it was her celebratory post-race lip-lock with a mystery woman that put her name – and face – all over social media.

After a second kiss was caught on camera during the closing ceremonies, the identity of Woods' Olympic flame was revealed to be none other than Team USA physical therapist Clarke Griffin, daughter of the head of Team USA's medical team Dr. Abigail Griffin. The younger Griffin grew up around elite athletes, but even that early exposure didn't grant her immunity from the skier's charms. 

Following the Olympics, Woods parted ways with her coach, instead taking a chance on new coach Anya Forrester, who took bronze in 2010 in Woods' signature event, the Giant Slalom. It is worth noting that Griffin also joined Team Forrester shortly after the games. (Coincidence? We think not.) The change seems to have paid off, as Woods has remained at the top of her sport, regularly adding to her hoard of gold. 

What's more, we have reason to believe her winning streak isn't limited to the ski slopes. It seems the undeniable chemistry between Lexa and Clarke has turned to alchemy as the pair was recently spotted sporting matching gold bands. 

Are congratulations in order? Seems like a nice day for a red, white, and blue wedding to us!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seemed fitting to post the last chapter of this story on Independence Day. Go USA and all that. *g* I hope you all enjoyed it!
> 
> Also just a heads up to my regular readers - I am going on a posting hiatus for the remainder of the month. I want to focus on actually getting words written and building up a little bit of a buffer for posting. I will be back in August with new content!


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